


Of The North

by tincturedwords



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Aragorn Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Chieftain Aragorn, Developing Friendships, Elf Culture & Customs, Elvish, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Issues, Fever, First Meetings, Gen, Healer Aragorn, Healing, Hiding Medical Issues, Horses, Hurt Legolas Greenleaf, Hurt/Comfort, Infection, Injury, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Male Friendship, Middle Earth, Mild Gore, Minor Injuries, Parent Elrond, Post - The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, Protective Aragorn, Protective Elrond, Protective Legolas Greenleaf, Ranger Culture & Customs, Rangers, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21742525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tincturedwords/pseuds/tincturedwords
Summary: First meeting between a young Elven Prince and a young Dúnadian Ranger. The happenings to follow cement the friendships between Legolas and Aragorn for the long years to come, as well as with Estel’s foster brothers, Elladan and Elrohir. Halbarad too.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Elladan & Elrohir, Aragorn | Estel & Elladan & Elrohir & Elrond Peredhel, Aragorn | Estel & Halbarad, Aragorn | Estel & Halbarad & Legolas Greenleaf & Elladan & Elrohir, Aragorn | Estel & Legolas Greenleaf, Elladan & Elrohir & Legolas Greenleaf, Elladan & Elrohir (Tolkien)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	1. Happenstance

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Canon Typical Violence , Blood , Mild Gore , Mild Language , Descriptions of Battle / War , Mentions of Giant Spiders , Descriptions of Injury , Descriptions of Wounds , etc.  
>  **Spoilers:** _The Hobbit_ films ; _The Desolation of Smaug_ & _The Battle of the Five Armies_ / _Born of Hope_  
>  **Timeline:** Set Post - _Battle of the Five Armies_ , Pre - _The Fellowship of the Ring_  
>  **Pairings:** Gen. References to Aragorn/Arwen. Implies Tauriel/Kíli.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **A/N:** This is prodomentinly set within the films timeline , but there’s lots of allusions to & content that come from the books. This is my first _The Hobbit_ / _The Lord of the Rings_ fanfiction that I’m giving a go. I have no beta thus all mistakes are mine.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to _The Hobbit_ , _The Lord of the Rings_ , _Born of Hope_. Neither am I associated with the production companies , J.R.R Tolkien , Christopher Tolkien , Peter Jackson , or the actors who portray these characters. I make no money off any of my stories , this is purely for entertainment purposes.

" There are as many worlds as there are kinds of days, and as an opal changes its colors and its fire to match the nature of a day, so do I. " **\- John Steinbeck**

* * *

Pallid grey were the skies. A bitter wind rustled and swept amongst the trees, it’s sound a gentle whisper at some moments to bird startling hiss the next. The muted greens of this forest combined with the turn of the weather the past week towards spelt a swift approach of winter. 

Although the elf, sitting astride his horse, felt the chill in the persistent breeze near to none. It always served him better to read the elements to predict nature’s next step. Keeping vigilant granted easier preparedness to survive when help nor home were near. 

The trees of the area were slower to respond, beginning they were to bury within themselves in defence against the emerging cold season.Their songs lulled to a mellifluous hum, wisped along the trailing wind and heard along the edges of the elf’s senses. Pleasant and beautiful it’s composition nevertheless was. 

So different from the song his home forest sang. A lighter melody that continuously thrummed deeply through the core and fibre of the wood. It an anthem at the presence of an elf compared to the sombre ballad of the forest of Mirkwood. This wood seemed to yearn for and cherish its time with one of the Eldar about, unafraid to raise its voice in show of love and happiness. 

Whereas the forest of the Woodlands he called home, held a constant harmony that surged forth whenever elves were near, but for as long as he could remember it remained a faint song. Unwilling to grow too loud for fear of distraction to the elves they treasured and the wish not to draw the darkness nearer by making its lively presence known. But each measure and every note of it’s hymn always brought forth an encompassing warmth and peace to those who could hear it. The trees cared for the elves of their wood, just as the elves that fought for them. 

Indeed different, enough so to wedge a stake of homesickness into Legolas’ heart, but as well to conjure up a sense of awe at the newest of his surroundings. An eagerness to explore and experience life outside his realm, and those of Laketown or Dale, drove away the pangs of missing home. 

Yet ever present was the wariness and want of caution, long bred into an innate reaction amongst the elves of the Woodland, when in unfamiliar territory. Unquestioning he was of his ability to care for himself and handle what may come his way, but neither was he going to invite trouble or seek it out. His luck had held this far. 

Overconfidence and haughtiness were swiftly stomped to dust when fighting opposition of all sorts belonging to the Shadow’s vile taint back home. Thus he continued with a more vigilant dial to his senses. Ears perked and eyes peeled. Elven perceptions tuned towards the air of the land, listening for either warning or direction whichever it should lend. 

It was the bubbling babble of creek caught the elf’s ears amongst the sparse birdsong and sustained croon of the land, and that of his horse’s attention. Conceding that a break was needed for his mount and too the waterskins could use a refreshing, Legolas swung a leg over the rump of his horse. Dismounting smoothly, the wood elf patted Faenil on the neck and guided her towards the brook, where he bid her to drink and he set about refilling the waterskins. Two from his pack and one on his person. 

He himself took a long drink from one. The water was cold, the runoff from the glaciers in the mountains. Meaning this creek would cease to exist once winter rolled in completely, to be reawakened when spring brought forth the melt. From the outline of the dry fissure through the earth, it seemed to grow a touch wider and run a stretch deeper when in summer. Seeming more a full stream than a mere brook as it was now. 

Several hushed words spoken to Faenil told the horse to enjoy a repast, to graze as she wished and rest. It had been a long journey thus far and was not yet over. She was deserving of a reprieve when they could have one. Too few they have had in recent years. 

Following suit, Legolas stepped towards the closest tree. A tall pine that welcomed him to climb up into its branches. Legolas gladly did. With a leap upwards he grasped onto the lowest one and swung a moment there before hauling himself up. Sitting a moment to whisper a greeting and mention of thanks, then shifting to stand and continue up the length of the tree. Soon no longer having to stretch or leap for a handhold, but able to step and climb up as one would walk up a flight of stairs. 

Interrupted was his climb a moment later when dully the tree beneath his feet hummed of danger near. It’s brethren having cautioned an unrest within this fair wood. Subtle was the smile that graced Legolas’ lips, lifting a hand to pat the branch above his with affection for the tree’s forewarning. It appeared his venture for rest would have to wait. 

Casting out his senses, eyes closing to hone his focus. One, two, three breaths taken and there! The sounds, subdued by distance, of a skirmish reached the elf’s ears. A clashing of swords and the rustle within the surrounding woods, a disquiet that came with strife rippled through the air. Naught the roaring clatter of a full engagement nor outright battle, but still a fight between several members. 

Stepping forth, he silently traversed from one branch to the next. A mere fraction of his attention diverted to his footing for fleet footedness was an innate trait to elves, with special attention to those of the forest that lived most of their days within the uppermost levels. Amongst the leaves and nesting birds, where the trees reached forward skyward. 

Effortless was the leap he took from the tree to its neighbour. Biding a warm farewell to the first tree, then saying a kind greeting to the next he crossed over to. Thankful for the lend of their boughs for him to climb. Doing so each time he moved to a new tree, continuing his treetop trek through the woods until he came upon a small clearing. More of a sparse gap within the foliage, a break between clumps of trees and underbrush.

Gaze squinted, glacial hues diminished none by the narrowing of his features. His brow furrowed, a frown followed the down turning motion, at noting the stains of crimson that dotted the forest floor. Yellows and browns decorated this woodland, their decaying vibrancy that belonged to autumn and beginnings of winter would have left it a difficult thing to spot. Although, the keenness of the Firstborn’s eyes were unneeded to spy it for what it was. Blood freshly spilt.

It shone with a brilliant red, the differing contrast to the dully coloured earth left it a bright beacon for those who came across it. 

Not so innocent a sight if such amount of blood had left one person. Either multiple persons had taken injury, or if one, they would be in little to no fit state before long. The sounds of the fight still rang through the air with a clarity that those of the Secondborn would have no trouble picking out the noise for what it was, much less for those of the Firstborn. This fight he approached had drawn blood. 

Gliding along the branches of a few more trees, more quick in his pace with a hand having come up to notch an arrow on his bow. It stayed at rest, not pulled but prepared for whatever action he may need to take when he came across these combatants. Better prepared than not. 

Now entirely inattentive to his step, relying solely upon muscle memory and centuries long practice to keep himself sure of foot. An ingrained trust lent to the tree itself to ensure he remain aloft and safely concealed behind its greenery. His sole focus upon the sight below. 

A group of men fought with swords, it seeming one against four with the body of a fifth laying crumpled off to the side. The lone man that fought four possessed a greater degree of skill. That was apparent at a glance, for it far surpassed the latter group’s collective skill. They relied on a sly strength to ensure each blow was hard hitting and would rattle the sword of each opponent with every strike, yet slow were they to retract to swing again. Their style would do more harm for them in the end. While it was effective in keeping an adversary on the defensive, it would grow tiring in time, thus allowing for their foe to win in the end.

Which was very likely to happen far more quickly here with the single man’s better practised hand with a blade. However, the group did have the advantage of numbers on their side. And whilst the taller man moved fluidly with each stroke and brandishing of his sword, stilted was his footwork and he pivoted little. 

“I will have you know horse thievery is nay taken lightly by most, attempted or successful.” The man, who fended off four, called out, seeming oddly good-humoured to Legolas’ ears for the situation, “You are lucky I am in a pleasant mood, for if only you just apologise, you will not be joining your friend there for a nap.” 

Enraged was the out cried response from a majority of those who surrounded the man. At least it answered the question of who had been the transgressors in this fight for the elf that remained hidden in the trees. It certainly made it easier to come to a decision, for one versus four was hardly fair with those in greater number in the wrong. 

Thus now seemed no better time to act, Legolas shifted his stance in preparation to jump down. An ingrained wariness of others unable to leave him entirely, then he leapt from his perch. With barely a whisper of sound he landed on the forest floor, bow up and tension wrought along the string as he drew the arrow back. The swiftness of the action bespeaking of long time practise and usage of his weapon. His aim placed at the chest of one of the vagabonds, where one’s heart would lay beneath.

Barely a second ticked by before he released the arrow, a quick alteration to the level that he held his bow ensured the trajectory had it piercing the fleshy part of the upper arm of the opposition’s sword hand. The weapon fell to the ground with a dull clatter and a pained outcry of from the man. 

This startled the entirety of the group for a moment, each glancing towards the injured one then frantically eyeing from whence the shot came. All except the man of the elf’s interest that was, the sole man had immediately spied the elf without losing his eye for the skirmish at hand. 

“An elf!” Came the shout from one of the other thieves, his features pale and openly displayed his shock. 

Startled was he to see one of the Eldar so far from any Elven Realm, most likely thinking them creatures of stories and legends. Not any true being of this world. But his blood was up, thus he his expression was quick to sneer over and he lunged forwards with a swing of his sword. 

Legolas drew back, ducked and side stepped to deftly avoid the strike. Clumsy and arrogant the thief was. Steps heavy when he stumbled past. Whether due to fear or inexperience, the ruffian was slow to recover. 

Fitting another arrow to his bow, with a turn of his frame to ensure it flew true, Legolas released the arrow. It struck the intended target as was it aimed. The whetted edge sliced along the aggressor’s cheek, and thereby caused him to stumble with a harsh shout of alarm mingled with pain. More surprised than truly hurt. 

Another arrow, drawn back so swiftly none had seen the action before it was done. The honed edge glanced across the back of the other’s sword hand, splitting open a laceration of the flesh there, had him dropping his sword entirely. With a noise that was akin to his first shout, the vagabond dithered between using his final hand to hold to his face or clutch his newly wounded hand. Resolving to press his hand to his chest and press his other hand to his face, he hurried in his flight to get away. 

Confident in his sighting and command of his bow, Legolas didn’t fear for the human’s health. Facial wounds and those of the hands always stung and bled for far greater length of time than the seriousness of injury should allow. The man would be fine without stitching, and near scarless with proper care. Barely would his hits leave a physical mark to remember this by.

To the left of Legolas, he heard a body thump struck the forest floor. Quick was he to turn, ready to fight anew, but was pleased to see the man having felled another of the thieves. Although it seemed in desperation or fright, the last of them hurried forward to tackle the other man. Legolas observed as they fell in a tussle of limbs. 

It seemed the innocent man had not wished to end any life here, for he’d dropped the position of his sword to receive the blow full bodied when he noted the thief hadn’t raised his own weapon when he’d lunged. 

Strange, but Legolas knew little of how mortals took retribution, even less of how they dispensed of justice by the laws of their people, thus he questioned it not. Instead he ran forwards, having swung his bow behind him to catch on his quiver before withdrawing one of his white knives. The finely polished blade gleamed in the mid-morning sunlight when it was pulled free from its sheath at his back. 

Legolas moved to manoeuvre around the squabbling heap, awaiting when the thief had wrestled his way on top of the waylaid man. And before the thief could deliver the punch he had drawn his clenched fist back for, Legolas reached out to snatch the back of the man’s tunic and cloak. Gripping the fabric of his collar, he yanked him backwards in a hasty motion. Keeping a hold, the elf angled the blade of his knife to rest against the thief’s developing adam’s apple. All movement ceased instantly at that. 

Legolas levelled a glare towards the human he held, unwavering until the downed man gained his feet once again beneath him, only then did he looked towards the man and ask, “How do you wish for justice to be had?” 

The stranger seemed to blink, a touch astonished and perhaps concussed, but he rallied quickly. Coming towards the pair, elbows bent and palms raised outwards, he rejoined, “They have learnt their lesson I believe. They were given more than they bargained for I would bet.” 

Glacial eyes of the elf’s narrowed anew at hearing the good humour within the man’s tone, was this just a game to him? How odd to treat such an offence with levity? Horse thieves took transportation and at times livelihoods from those who relied upon the beast for travelling and ploughing, amongst all other sorts of help. It was no little matter as the man had told the would be thieves earlier. 

“They never achieved their goal. Young and stupid they are.” The man continued, addressing the man the elf held hostage next, “Think you can go about on your way, having learnt to steal naught, if I kindly ask my friend here to let you live?” 

The human didn’t dare squirm with so sharp a blade at his neck, expertly placed it was along the jumping artery. A feather light touch against it, yet smart was the thief to know it would take no effort to cause irreparable damage should he resist. 

Tremble the vagabond did, his gaze begged for acceptance of the man’s offer. Noticing this and that indeed the human looked decidedly younger than the one before them, thus Legolas removed his knife without needing to be asked. Releasing his hold upon the cloak and allowing the thwarted thief to stagger forwards. Seeming to take a moment, realising he was alive and free, before he bolted further into the trees. Grabbing the other dazed thief, who’d been on his knees, and practically dragged him with him whilst shouting insensible apologies into the air. 

The elf and man watched the boys leave. The second thief who’d been knocked unconscious was too gone by that time. Hopefully the lessons learnt this day would stick for those young men. A handful of moments passing where the hush of the woods diminished and the natural sounds of Yavanna’s creations came alive with sound and song once more. 

Feeling the man’s stare on him, Legolas turned his head to stare back, to which the man offered a smile, “It seems my thanks are in order, your assistance was welcomed. If a bit much. Thank you nevertheless.” 

“There is no need, for as you have said, you could have handled this without help.” As Legolas spoke he moved to retrieve the arrows he spent, sheathing his knife and unhitching his bow to carry in hand. 

“True, but to see kindness and help so readily given it a rarity in these times.” The stranger countered, following him at a slower rate, “And it is for that I thank you.” 

“Then you are welcome.” Legolas picked up the first he had shot, glancing down the shaft to ensure its integrity remained, satisfied, he moved to fetch the other two. 

“Is there ought I can do to return the favour?” Asked the man. 

Legolas returned the last arrow to his quiver, turning to stare at the stranger for a long moment, “I require nothing, but you have my thanks for your offer.” 

“Good day to you then.” The man called as the elf walked towards a tree then leapt into its branches, muttering under his breath after the elf was out of sight, “A stranger elf than usual that one.” 

The sharp hearing of said elf caught the whisper, a new wave of confusion and wonder came over Legolas at those words. But ignoring them in favour of retracing his path through the treetops towards where he knew his horse to be. Or generally so. Indeed he spied her brownish coat with a familiar ease of years spent with a single horse, and the additional aid of keen elven eyes. 

Climbing down another tree’s trunk, swift and agile were his movements, he patted the trunk affectionately and whispered a word of thanks to the barren oak. It had lent its leafless boughs happily, albeit sleepily due to the encroaching winter season. Glad was it to have met a wood elf before it slept the winter away. 

Approaching his horse, who raised her head and gave a tame neigh of greeting, Legolas gently extended his hand to pet the velvety muzzle of his mount. 

“Man pedle? Kav himm vín lend, mellon nín? Ed est eno aur.” He asked, to which Faenil simply wheeled to the side so that Legolas could jump onto her back. ( What say you? Shall we continue our journey, my friend? It is still early )

“Sui neoth him est.” He smiled, and did just so. ( Like minded we are ) 

… 

His steps were feather light, bowing the branch of the age old conifer none. It having gifted its branches for the oncoming night. A pleasant thrum brushed along the outer edges of his senses, a calm, almost sleepy sound but no less happy melody of life that pulsed from within the bark. Elated when one of the Firstborn, especially those of the woodland kin, were amongst its needles and pine cones. The encroaching winter season dimming it’s joy none. Overwhelming not was it’s song, for keeping the elf awake was not its purpose. Merely giving voice to its appreciation and singing its happiness, as trees were wont to their emotions. 

Moments later to the elf it murmured of a presence approaching below, to which Legolas stood and stepped forwards to peer through the thick curtain of needle bunches. Noting with surprise it was the same man from before that stood below, the other seeming to have sought the small creek that trickled between this crop of trees to fill his waterskin. 

As if sensing scrutiny upon his person, the human straightened and glanced around before turning his gaze up towards the treetops. Grey hues narrowed and searching. At seeing the action, Legolas had to allow a tiny smirk to uplift a corner of his lips. Wood elves did pride themselves on being able to meld with the scenery about themselves with the ease in which they breathed.

Waiting for the stranger’s attention to shift away from him afresh, the elf slid elegantly down the boughs. Innately navigating the tree’s trunk with silent footfalls and swift movements, until he could land equally as quiet near the stream on the same side the man was on. 

“It seems we are wont to meet again.” Legolas spoke up then, causing the man to turnabout swiftly. 

A grin stretched the man’s lips then, gaining recognition after he regarded the elf a moment “Ah, so it seems! And too that all elves are the same.” 

The furrow that came to Legolas’ brow at his words had the other quickly adding, “Your lightness of foot has you all eager to startle those not so gifted.” 

Legolas raised a single eyebrow at that claim, “It is not purposeful on my part. Merely how I tread.” 

“Of course.” The other conceded easily, “Now since we keep running into each other, would you care to share my fire tonight? I would enjoy the company. Long has it been since I have.” 

The sentence seemed to carry further despite no words being spoken more. Seeming to imply a different meaning than mere lack of company. 

“Been in the company of elves?” Legolas asked, continuing what he thought the other may have intended. 

The other’s eyes flicked his way, the look seeming to weigh something greatly despite the shortness of the glance, “In anyone’s company, as is wont for a traveller, but aye, elves included.” 

Legolas’ own gaze held question now, remaining focused upon the man as he went about leading the way towards his camp. It was a short distance to a tiny clearing between a cluster of trees and a dense clump of barren shrubbery. A temporary fire pit was already erected and flames licked at the wood piled within. The subtle breeze that drifted through carried the trails of smoke that leapt into the air away from where a bedroll and a travelling pack were set. 

Rustling from a nearby bush reveal a horse, who’d perked up at hearing someone approaching, but returned to munching on the generous portion of hay on the ground. The mount was clearly the man’s, and Legolas found the white blaze that painted down the horse’s face a fascinating colouring. It contrasting heavily with the light chestnut hue of its coat, and covering one of the horse’s eyes. It a rare blue whilst the other was the usual brown. Truly a uniquely beautiful mount. 

The man went about tending the fire, not unaware of Legolas’ inquiring look nor of the awed interest of his horse. He had to secretly smile at seeing wonder upon an elf’s face, too often it seemed elves knew more than any other creature upon Middle Earth and naught could surprise them anymore. It was refreshing for the man to witness. 

Meanwhile knowing he would gain no answers by staring nor if the other did not wish to give them, Legolas resolved to settle himself for the night. Pursing his lips, Legolas whistled, pitched high but not piercing. It had brought the attention of the man and horse, but the sound of trotting hoof falls gave them answer enough without need of words. Especially when Legolas’ roan hued horse came stepping through the underbrush to greet her rider. 

“You may settle your horse near mine, if she welcomes the company as we do.” The man offered with a sweep of his arm towards his own mount, “Then join me by the fire, if you will it?” 

“You have my thanks.” Legolas loosed the buckle of his pack that lay strapped to the blanket along Faenil’s back, pulling it down and speaking softly to the mare. Giving it leave to graze and rest as she chose, just as he had earlier in the day, so long as she stayed near. 

With a quiet nicker and ruffling shake of her mane, the mare stepped away to greet the chestnut coloured stallion that belonged to the stranger. Both elf and man watched a moment as the two mounts sniffed each other then offered their versions of regards in short whinnies and gentle nickers. 

The man gestured towards the pair, “Seems Baran has taken to Faenil well enough, and she with him.” 

“That they do.” Legolas responded, stepping into the small clearing to join the man at the fireside, “Ire and stubbornness is with her usual demeanour, thus I can only imagine your horse must be of fine breed to tempt her kindness.” 

A lighthearted scoff met Legolas’ ears, “Aye, he is, but do not let such compliments leave your lips in his hearing. He will prove insufferable to ride.” 

The stranger moved to dig through his pack, tugging a wrapped cloth from it to show, “Now I have some salt venison to share if you are hungry?” 

He began unfolding it to lay the cut slices of venison along the marginally flat rock that’d been purposely set nearly within the fire to warm the pieces of meat. Usually a cold ration it was, but in the dipping temperatures of encroaching winter it was always better warmed. The dryness of the meat easily ignored for the bit of warmth it offered. 

“I too have provisions to share in thanks for sharing your fire this night.” Legolas spoke as he drew a pouch from his own pack, then nimble fingered he untied the simple knot of twine that was wrapped around the upper portion that closed the cloth sack and angled the pouch for the other to see into it, “There is sun dried figs, currants, and sliced apples.” 

The man seemed to brighten at the mention of the fruit, smiling once more, “That is a kindly offer. You have my thanks.” 

He set aside the scraps of kindling used to draw the fire hotter and he reached for the small cloth bag to tip it over his other hand, just so to allow a portion of the contents to fall into his palm. Then he righted it and passed it back to the elf. Still a majority of its sustenance left inside. 

Legolas merely nodded in acceptance of the gratitude. Taking some for himself, picking out the currants first then the apples and finally any figs. Whereas the other, he observed, choose the figs first then the apples and currants last. The elf lent a thought to wonder if figs were the other’s favourite or least so to be eaten so quickly. 

“That was a rare treat, again I thank you. Hannon le.” The man switched to Sindarin at the end to express his thanks in the language the elf would know by heart, thus hopefully deepening its meaning. ( Thank you ) 

Legolas blinked, unused to hearing his mother tongue on those of Man, but responded in kind, “Maedoldh.” ( You’re welcome ) 

“I am a Ranger of the North.” The stranger suddenly offered up, wiping his hand on his trousers whilst staring at the fire, “Sindarin is spoken more than the Common Tongue in the village from whence I was born.” 

The words had captured Legolas’ attention, his sights settled on the other throughout his explanation before he as well turned towards the fire, giving a nod that he had heard, “It is much the same for I, although with Silvan and Sindarin.” 

A glance was sent Legolas’ way from the man, “You speak Westron well.” 

“A must.” Was all Legolas said. 

The Ranger nodded, accepting that some information would have to await a closer acquaintanceship or be left unsaid entirely should their paths diverge from one another come morning. Smiling suddenly, having caught the odd humour of their conversation, the stranger pointed it out to his companion, “It seems we are doing this in reverse, speaking of ourselves without even proper introductions.” 

Blue eyes flicked up to meet grey ones, the man seeming inclined to be second for introductions despite his bringing up the subject first. 

Legolas’ gaze narrowed a fraction in suspicion, but in knowing a social dance of sorts when greeted with one, the elf inclined himself to trust instead to that of caution. Both were attempting to find footing between one another and the measure of the being at their side, their honour proven in the skirmish this morning but the merits of their characters however remained unknown. 

Thus nodding, Legolas obliged, “I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm. My king sends me West to bear news from what has happened in the East, tidings of a fierce battle fought and fates to every side present.” 

No lie lain with his words, merely omission of certain facts and creative interpretation of his father’s words before he left. He would trust, but in increments. For too often were those outside of kin were quick to tempt with kindness before striking at any weak points found. 

A furrow had drawn the other’s brow downwards, “You carry ill news with you?”

Gaze cast through the fire, seeing it not but those of memories from two months past, Legolas answered, “Ever grave are reports from a battlefield, but not dire are these. The dragon, Smaug, was destroyed and the armies of the Shadow defeated. It was a great cost to the dwarves under the mountain, their king and princes were amongst the fallen. A good many of Men and Elves too were lost.” 

His expression cleared near the end of his recount, drawing back towards the present to look towards the other as he continued, “The city Dale is to be restored and dwarves are set to return to Erebor. Grandson of Lord Girion, Bard he is called to rule Dale, and Dáin, a dwarf from the Iron Hills, is crowned king of Erebor.”

The man listened to the abridged version of events with a keen interest, attention rapt and focus unwavering. He had heard many field reports before and this carried much the same feel to it. There being little personal opinion or emotion to the retelling, no fanciful verbiage nor extravagant regulation of this specific elf’s actions. Merely facts, both relevant and detailed to a degree that would benefit a woodsman transversing the lands. 

Dusk had settled on this day, the evening light fading with the setting sun. Vibrant orange dimming far swifter in the thick woods, not so quick as in the forest of Legolas’ home, but it was much alike. The colourful hues of a sunset seen through the trees with better ease here, although their height had the ground cast in shadow long before the sun dipped beneath the horizon. It added a more foreboding nature to the elf’s retelling, but it had been many multitude of years since either of the two had feared the dark. 

“There is much left unsaid in your tale.” It was a statement that left the stranger’s lips, not question nor accusation. 

That surprised Legolas, although his only show of it being a single raised eyebrow. His own gaze still dark with recall of those events, but held a questioning degree that the other’s hadn’t. If the man wished for a grand story or intricate retelling of the happenings, he would find none from this elf. 

“Again, I merely state what I observe.” He spoke at last when silence reigned over the space between them for several moments, “You have given every detail needed without mention of specific experience nor personal action.” 

Legolas’ eyes flashed, cerulean hues seeming to glow contrary to the fading light of dusk, “You cast doubt on my claims to have fought.” 

“Nay, Master Elf!” The Ranger seemed truly startled at that assumption, shifting to raise his hands in a naturally placating gesture, his features abashed, “My words were ill chosen. I do not doubt you have fought. That battle and many others. Merely it is refreshing to hear a report and not an exaggerated tale of bravery or greatness. Many a man in Bree to have fought of wolves of last winter, whilst no easy feat, seem think they defeated all evil of these lands. From there to the East itself.” 

Having relaxed more and more whilst the man was speaking, now understanding the perspective of the other and too finding it rather humorous. He knew of a few elves who fit the description as the stranger painted those men of Bree. A small smile quirked a single corner of Legolas’ lips as he thought back on them and their grandiose stories. 

“Ah, I will take that as all is forgiven?” 

The words from the woodsman had Legolas fighting to keep a full smile from forming on his lips. This human wasn’t quick to smile, although a tentative one lay along his lips now, but was indeed friendly and as proven thrice fold already, much more than any of the men Legolas had ever encountered before. Even that of Bard. Although a good man the Dragonslayer was before such a title was bestowed upon him, this one held a different aura to his person. 

“Aye.” Legolas nodded, “I apologise for deriving the incorrect conclusion to your words.” 

“No need, I should have been more clear and careful with my word choice.” The man said whilst reaching forward to turn the venison cuts around, “Seem it has been too long since I’ve had company aside from myself to converse with, I forget my thoughts are not readily known.” 

The hesitant smile turned full on the Ranger’s lips, his words a jest to ease the tension. Not much of it remained, it having abated during his explanation and truly done away with at that. Enough so that Legolas to offered a fledged smile of his own. 

“It is good news indeed that not all men speak in riddles.” 

An expression of shock came over the man’s face, it’s ruined by the curve of his lips as he fought a laugh, “Us speak in riddles? This being said from an elf!” 

“Much you know of elves then?” Legolas countered, both eyebrows raising, “Seems you have more of an advantage than I do, for still I know not your name nor purpose.” 

“Ah, forgive my ill manners.” The stranger did look a touch contrite, “I am called Halbarad. A ranger of the North charged with patrolling these lands.” 

Angling his head down and placing a hand over his chest, he formally greeted the Ranger, “Mae g’ovannen, Halbarad of the Northern Rangers.” 

“Mae g’ovannen, Legolas of the Woodland Realm.” Halbarad returned the gesture with an ease Legolas hadn’t expected, “Now I think supper is warm enough, and there’s plenty for two.”

_TBC._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** So how many thought Legolas was speaking to Aragorn this whole time? Worry not though Aragorn will show up very soon. In the next chapter in fact, & he plays a much bigger role in this story with Legolas.
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome or just any comments that come to mind about something you liked / didn’t like or reactions to any given part. Whatever it may be , feel free to say something about it. I would love to know & hear from you , but never feel obligated to comment / review if you aren’t up for it.
> 
>  **Note#1 :** The Battle of the Five Armies takes place on October 10 & I figured it takes probably two days march from the Woodland Stronghold to Dale / Erebor & back , so Legolas would have left on the 12th of October for the Rangers. ( If he left right away that is ) Then it’s around a month and a half to cross the rest of the forest , cross over the High Pass of the Misty Mountains & finally cross over the land towards Fornost. So Legolas would arrive sometime near 26th of November , give or take a few days to a week. Before any snowfall , but enough for the weather to begin to turn towards colder temperatures I would think. 
> 
> **Note#2 :** Faenil is Legolas’ horse, her name means radiance. Her coat is of a roan colour. She has been a faithful horse since she was a foal, bonding with Legolas when he stumbled upon her and her mother in the woods during a scouting mission. Faenil tolerates hardly anyone else but Legolas.
> 
>  **Note#3 :** Roans are popular colours in horses of the Woodland Realm. Right along with those of bay or chestnut hues do to their ability to blend better with the forest than most other colours of coats. Although all animals are asked for their service as mounts / ploughs / etc. by the Wood Elves. None are forced nor kept under lock and key. It’s more a partnership and friendship between Elf and Animal than master and servant. It’s one of the reasons elves can so easily ride without any tack.
> 
>  **Note#4 :** Legolas very much loves speaking with trees. All of nature really, but he is partial to trees most. It’s said all elves possess an ease in communicating with nature and animals, but those of Silvan descent & who live in Silvan fashion have a greater ability with it. Thus Legolas being half Silvan and living as he does in the Woodland Realm, he does show a keener sense and feel of the land about him. In those of Yavanna’s creations, as he isn’t so good with that of stone or underground.
> 
>  **Note#5 :** I would think the villagers of the Dúnedain camp would speak mostly Westron with bits of Sindarin based upon the Born of Hope film when they switch from Westron to Sindarin at given times. & the needed ability to converse with other townsfolk of other villages / towns , they would have to know Westron. Thus I figured those of the Dúnedain would be raised speaking both.
> 
>  **Note#6 :** One of my larger pet peeves about the Peter Jackson’s adaptations is the line of Tauriel’s when she was talking about her being a Silvan elf , “a lowly Silvan elf.” because when Oropher was king , the Sindarin elves adopted the Silvan tongue & way of life into their own. Like seriously they integrated themselves into everything. It is a mixture of cultures & coexistence , none are lesser than another when it comes to the ruling. As so stated by Tolkien. Sure there will be disputes & rough patches between them as they are differing in many ways , but to have Thranduil think as such is not correct. Nor does Legolas , seeing as he thinks himself more Silvan than Sindarin. Just no to the whole Silvan elves are lower or lesser than Sindarin ones. None of that happens nor is the way of thinking for Thranduil or Legolas in any of my writings.


	2. Coincidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seems fate has similar aims to Legolas’ own, his quest to meet a Ranger by the name of Strider is made an easy one by coincidence. Learning of his true name & why his father sent him to do so , that’s another matter entirely, especially with trials elsewhere cropping up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** My thanks to those who have given kudos & have bookmarked / subscribed to this story , I greatly appreciate it !  
> Again I have no beta thus all mistakes are mine & I apologise for them.
> 
> * * *
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to _The Hobbit_ , _Lord of the Rings_ , _Born of Hope_. Neither am I associated with the production companies , J.R.R Tolkien , Christopher Tolkien , Peter Jackson , or the actors who portray these characters. I make no money off any of my stories , this is purely for entertainment purposes.

" Once you make a decision , the universe conspires to make it happen. " **\- Ralph Waldo Emerson**

* * *

Brightening the sky was, indigo of the night was washed away to pewter with hints of lightning silver. There was scarce a hint of blue or orange. Greys continued now with traces of a faint pink that told of a rising sun. Heavy was the cloud cover, matted and thick in their blanketing of the heavens. Naught a beam of the sun’s shine could be seen through it. Only the paling of the blackness of the night sky told of daylight’s coming. 

The solitary chirps of a cardinal, it’s feathers a stark red despite the fade of winter’s touch, broke the quiet of the morning. As dawn waned to foreday other patterned whistles and variants of calls joined the lone cardinal’s. The world was awakened bit by bit, beginning with the birds. 

Nests that lay tucked securely within the briars of the branches housed the astirred birds no longer. The gathering light spurred them from roosts, fluttering and flapping whooshes of their wings accompanied their songs. Artfully crafted and wove to combat exposure of those built between the junctions of when a branch sprouted off from the trunk or off from a main bough. 

For bare were many of the oaks and birches now. The approaching winter season having stripped those trees. It’s continually chilling temperatures having turned the once lush greenery into brittle browns before they fell to decorate the ground in a mosaic of bronze, amber, and ruby. 

Whereas the pine still held stubbornly onto their verdure. Greens of various dark shades lingered in their clumps of needles that spindles out from their twigged boughs. Dotted periodically with an enclosed pine cone, they not yet flourishing out to spread their seed. One of the only dormancy that conifers had when the summers attenuated into autumn to fall to winter. 

It was in a genial pine that Legolas had taken up temporary residence, bow in hand. It’s smooth and elegantly crafted wood a familiar weight within the curve of his calloused palm. Crouched was he along a thick bough, his back rested at times along the scaly bark of its trunk. It’s uneven texture didn’t bother the wood elf any for he’d spent more time up in trees than he had in his father’s stone carved halls. Thus beyond used to the toughness of bark and noise of the forest he was, far more comfortable and at home he felt amongst the trees than that of stone. 

Intermittently, a waft of wind would blow through the branches. Yielding they were to sway with the press of the breeze, rustling against each other, then rocking back to their set position. But the wood elf was little bothered by the movement, intrinsically shifting his weight and angling his frame to accommodate without losing his balance nor hindering his vigilance. 

Finishing his set watch he was. After their supper, Halbarad had been quick to bring up the practise of watches. Legolas had readily agreed, and accepted the ranger’s wish for first watch. Conceding as it was the man’s camp and in truth, he enjoyed greeting a new day as it begun. 

Although he didn’t sleep deeply, it was more restful than many nights he’d spent in the wilds. Keen was the absence felt of having someone long trusted around to watch his back whilst he took repast or took a reprieve in full. He missed the elves of his patrol heartily, more than the sturdy stone walls of his chambers in the Stronghold’s palace. Far greater was the Silvan moiety in his blood, rooted deep within his very core as those of the tallest tree had within the earth. Thus he’d slipped into light elven dreams at that reminisce. 

The awoken later in the night, at two hours cusp of dawn he was. Halbarad had drawn the elf from his sleep by word alone. Not approaching nor touching, voice stern in its imploring he wake, but hushed and unhurried. A veteran of the watch the man was then, for unless indeed familiar with another none could predict what state a warrior would wake in. Legolas himself had seen many return from dreams fighting unfounded enemies or startled by phantom advisories. 

Light had been Legolas’ sleep, so neither had he done. Merely blinking once then repeatedly for a moment. Retracing his path from walking with his memories swiftly. A slow rising was not an oft luxury experienced, never so when outside the Stronghold. Fortunate for the human as the other didn't have to wait long to deliver the brief report and swap places. And beneficial too it seemed for Halbarad seemed oddly pale in the weak light from the glowing embers of their fire. 

“It is a cold night?” Legolas asked, voice pitched low and curious. 

Halbarad paused in his efforts to coax flames from the smouldering remnants, to regard the elf, “Aye. Not the worst I have weathered, but it is still biting.” 

“You may have use of my cloak for I do not feel the cold so keenly.” Legolas offered, unclasping the brooch that held it in place around his shoulders, heedless of the man’s protest, “Worry not for I will ask for it back, but I have not a need for it now.” 

Legolas had an inkling that the lack of further argument from the ranger on the matter and the quick acquiesce was an indicator of exactly how chilled the human had become. Twice glad was the elf then that he’d offered. It would do them ill should the man succumb to cold, or to a cold. Having heard stories, and once bore witness of, the illnesses that could afflict mortals. Not only would that impede his goal of finding a ranger called Strider, but he wished not to see this convivial ranger fall ill or freeze. 

Retreating then to a nearby tree, once Halbarad had retired to his bedroll, wrapped in the twain cloaks, Legolas places a hand on the rough bark of it’s trunk. It digging into the flesh of the elf’s fingers and palm none, callouses from centuries of use having hardened the skin there. Weapons training with a variety of armaments, from swords to knives to bows to spears, and a lifetime of climbing in like environments had coarsened the appendages. 

Brief was the reception between elf and tree, it was overjoyed to welcome an elf for company. And for the last several hours of the night that was now bleeding into morning, Legolas had kept watch over the temporary camp. 

At the lifting of the foredawn tint, Legolas stood. Booted feet balanced effortlessly along the frost coated branch, the early morning mist had settled heavily about the forest and froze to create the layer of white crystals atop any surface not under shelter when he stretched. Uneventful had been the night, thus made for idle muscles in need of movement. Stiff not from little motion nor the cold, but an eagerness to be on his way had his frame charged with energy. 

Slinging his bow over his shoulders to have use of both hands, Legolas descended with an agility befitting of his Eyrn Edhel heritage. The heat of his hands melted imprints of them into the thin dusting of frost, those being the only traces there ever was anyone about in the branches. Soon they would melt away to leave not a mark behind, but that of gladness to the tree for the memory of an elf’s visit was not easily forgotten. 

He landed with the barest of scuffs. The frozen ground gave none beneath his boots, but frost bitten leaves, already dried and cracked from the chilled embrace of the imminent winter season, crumbled underfoot. Loud the sound felt compared to the still muted quality that encircled the air, although the birdsong paused none nor was else disturbed. Still waking the world was, he no less apart of it. 

Retracing his steps back towards their small encampment, Legolas was puzzled at noticing Baran was snuffling around where Halbarad laid. The horse was nudging at the sleeping ranger’s head then shoulder, actions rather light given the height and breadth of the horse’s frame. But the inkling of humour fell away as the horse continued to receive no reaction from his rider. 

Legolas came forwards, steps hurried, “Ranger Halbarad?” 

Baran’s head rose at hearing the elf’s approach, he snorted in warning and sidestepped in agitation. This caused Legolas to slow, his hand outstretched with soothing words sliding off his tongue in Elvish. Explained he did that he meant no harm, that he only sought to help, in hopes to calm the worried beast. 

Consent was given a moment later when the horse snorted once more but walked a few paces away, near where Faenil was standing. Her attention had been on the proceedings and she nickered at Baran when he came near. 

With nothing in his way now, although he could not fault the horse of his suspicion and dedication to his rider, Legolas come forth to kneel at the ranger’s side. Noting the paleness of the man’s face aside from a scarlet flush along the height of his cheeks that wasn’t covered any by his full beard. In fact the dark colour of the hair their amplified the absence of colour to his features and brightness of fevered flush. 

“Ranger Halbarad!” The elf called, hoping to rouse the man with words ere he tried to assess further, “Ranger, you must wake! Now!” 

Summoning a breath, Legolas used a tone that he seldom used outside of commanding his archers back in Mirkwood during a patrol, but not in Silvan were his words. Howbeit odd they felt coming from his lips in the Common Tongue, spoken in such a manner, they were effective in their delivery, for Halbarad startled awake. 

Jarring upright, arms uncoordinated shoved at the cloaks he used for blankets and he blinked rapidly. It was when he attempted to gain his feet under him, heedless at present of Legolas’ spoken attempts to placate him, that he gave a short outcry and collapsed onto his backside. Immediately the ranger curled forward to clasp a hand at his lower leg whilst the other became a tight fist at his side. 

Tentative to approach, so harsh a waking and the realisation of being hurt didn’t usually allow for good reception when rushed or crowded, Legolas waited a spell. Still knelt and watchful from where he’d originally knelt. 

“Halbarad?” He called when the pain appeared to lessen for the man, glad the other instantly looked up and to see recognition in his eyes, “Ranger, you are wounded.” 

Had Halbarad felt well enough to do so, he would have made comment on, if not smiled at the obviousness of the elf’s statement. Alas his mind was awash with a fog that usually bespoke fever, he feared his efforts had been in vain and infection had set in, and his leg was paining him far greater than it had when he first received the injury. Now was not the time for mirth nor idle chatter. 

Wariness mingled with weariness in the ranger’s grey eyes, drawing lines upon his features that seemed to age him years. Indecisive over confessing full truth or attempting to lessen the extent of his hurts. A swell of fatigue seemed to decide it for him, he closed his eyes a moment before opening them to address the elf. 

“I took a sword swipe to my leg.” Halbarad removed his hand and sat back, leaning awkwardly against the tree he had scrambled up against, “I cleaned and bandaged it already.” 

“Might I see it?” Legolas asked, still he had yet to move, indicting with a nod of his head, not his hand or other movement, towards the leg Halbarad had been unconsciously guarding. 

Once the ranger nodded his head in consent, Legolas came further towards him. Recognising now the marginal increase in circumference around the top of one boot, but not the other. The leather boot, of fine make if worn with years put in use, was strained against the width of bandages that lay beneath. 

Legolas now could see the boot had too hid the sliced cloth of the ranger’s breeches and the wool hose beneath, the fabric had fallen when Legolas had removed the footwear. A diluted pink hue could be seen blossomed along the length of the yellow edged bandage on one side, it’s colour darkening towards the centre, where the apex of the wound would lay. 

Sharp was the scent that came the wound, stinking and sour. One known to Legolas, many aftermaths to skirmishes and outright battles had brought a familiarity he wished not to recognise. The wound had been corrupted by poison. Nose scrunching up, a grimace tightened and hardened his fair features, Legolas whipped his head up towards the Ranger’s face. 

“You foolish human!” 

The words, harshly uttered and angry, slid off his tongue ere he could hinder their advance. So short a time had he left his father’s halls and the better restraint of his tongue had slipped. Never had he feared to speak his mind, or in later years as his heart dictated, when in presence of his father, but these were not the Stronghold’s corridors nor did he long know this man. 

“It was not so severe last night.” Halbarad responded, voice strangely devoid of indignation or defence, only a touch stuttered by the chattering of his teeth. 

At hearing this, Legolas’ concern had doubled. Listlessness was never a good sign in any living creature. If words that struck at the pride of a being couldn’t rouse them any, there was a worry to be had. Few would let them pass without a word to the otherwise, or show of offense, even in show of glare at the very least. 

“It is a must that I take your word for it then.” Legolas conceded, for he hadn’t seen it prior to this sorry state and some infections did tend to crop up swiftly, “But there is more than simple infection present here. There lays a taint upon this wound.” 

He gave a short whistle to call for Faenil. Noticing Halbarad had leaned forward to examine his leg visually, seeming to confirm what Legolas had said. The man returning to his previous position, although seeming more tired than moments prior. 

“I have not the senses of an elf, but it indeed feels worse.” Halbarad said in way of agreement with Legolas, closing his eyes and sighing, “Poison explains why this has set, despite my cleansing of it only last night.” 

Legolas stood to receive his mare when she stepped forwards, answering without cessation of his actions, “Aye, slow acting banes leave no mark of their presence until hours after. I have seen it several times ere this.” 

Legolas grabbed the one pack that always remained attached to the blanket along her back. It was deceivingly small for the contents it carried were many, yet few in numbers of each. Healing supplies that were better kept with one’s mount should a pack be lost, irretrievable or taken. His personal kit was fastened to his belt, but this sort of wound would require items from the more outfitted kit. 

“I have a few healing herbs that may help, but I know only a little in the healing arts and naught of treating mortals.” Legolas once again crouched beside the shivering ranger, laying the pack at his own side to shift through its contents. 

Halbarad’s muscles tensed, his arms encircling his chest tighter in hopes to suppress the shuddering shivers, and his teeth clacked together repeatedly, but still he spoke, “Do what is needed.” 

Legolas nodded, pulling a pouch free from the pack and passing a dried slice of a dark hued root over, “This will not taste pleasant, but it will help fight the rise of a fever, and as well works to stop the rage of infections. Chew it to a pulp, then hold it under your tongue long as you are able to.” 

Shakily, Halbarad reached out to take the proffered medicine, despite the illness afflicting his body and beginning to wake at his mind, he held the presence of it to ask, “Do I swallow it?” 

“If you are able to manage it, yes.” Legolas answered with another nod, keeping his attention on the ranger until his directions were followed before he returned to searching through his pack, “It is the most bitter of roots I have come to find.” 

Another sac was taken out, untying it to peek inside confirmed it was the needed herb, he turned back to Halbarad, “When you are finished with that, there is another if you can manage. This one is to be held between your teeth, do not chew or swallow the bark itself.” 

A grimace had settled on Halbarad’s features, although Legolas was glad to seem a bit more animation come to the humans countenance. The ranger took the bite sized strip of stringy bark. He held it in his hands whilst he waited until he could swallow the now mushy root that still lay under this tongue. A few moments later he did and Legolas passed him a water skin at the wave of revulsion that came over the Ranger’s face when the aftertaste hit his tongue. 

“I fear those are only a temporary help, we must treat the infection at its source. But I am ill qualified for such a task, you need more skill than I possess.” Legolas said, his eyes drifted towards Halbarad’s leg then back, there was a weight to his gaze, “You as well have need of athelas, it will slow the poison’s progression until better help is found, but I have none with me. I will have to go in search for some.” 

Halbarad stared at the elf a moment. The underlying words were left unspoken, but their meaning wasn’t a stretch to infer. Legolas would have to leave to go fetch athelas, and with winter so close to taking hold, their was little possibility any patches were near enough. Thus the ranger would left alone, injured, fevered and not wholly certain the elf would return. 

These darkening days left little trust to lend to strangers, even those of the Eldar and developing acquaintanceship. 

“Aye.” Halbarad nodded, a wryly smile came to his lips, “Needs must.” 

“I will return.” The elf’s tone held strength that had it sounding akin to a vow, steady and instilled with prominence, “Keep vigilant.” 

Halbarad was boarding upon exhaustion, too tired was he to look any deeper into this strange elf’s behaviour, but not so to be unhearing of his words, “Aye, my wits have not abandoned me nor do I intend to let them.” 

Legolas nodded then stood. Faenil hadn’t gone far, nor had the ranger’s stallion. It was the latter that the elf beckoned forwards first. The beast came eagerly, seeming to know what was being asked of him on instinct. He angled himself in shield of his rider, obediently standing sentry over the hurt ranger. 

The pair seemed to hold a bond much resemblant to those of elves and elven mounts. Strange was it to observe but Legolas was grateful for it at the moment. Halbarad wouldn’t be truly left alone so long as Baran remained. 

Faenil was next, too coming at her rider’s call and wheeling around to give her rider leave to leap up onto her back. It took little effort for the elf to do so, grasping the hair of her mane just above her withers and placing his other hand on her back, he jumped. His hand position more for guiding the motion than heaving or leveraging himself up onto his horse. Lithe and light elven forms were with strength that wasn’t belayed by their fair frame and features. 

His glance back at the Ranger was met by the other, and Legolas nodded once. The gesture a farewell, acknowledgement, and affirmation of his promise to return. Not lightly did he sway from his words nor break a swear given. Though their knowing of each other had been brief, so brief when compared to the span of an elf’s life and those he’d known for centuries back home, he could not stand idly by nor did he wish to. 

Whispering a Silvan word to Faenil had them setting off. His horse sure of foot in forest terrain much more dense than this, thus he trusted her to lead whilst he kept his focus upon the forest floor below. Keen eyes peeled and roving for an indication of the weedy plant he sought. 

… 

He had dismounted Faenil a short time later to search around the mossy ground nearest the widest part of the stream. It was the same source that fed the places Legolas had stopped at twice yesterday, but three furloughs away from where he had left Halbarad. 

This place lay in near direct sunlight once morning had passed into almost noon, thus it was little wonder with the water so close and sunlight abound the greenery would flourish here longer than most of the summer forest. Yet all that grew was moss, several varieties of weeds and grass that held no use in healing. 

Ears twitched, senses suddenly awash with warning. Someone drew near. Although no caution was herald from the trees, their melodious hum continuing with a lacing of wondering after the shift in the elf’s mood. Sensitive though these trees were, they understood little of the innate and heightened vigilance of Wood Elves. A must it was in his home woods across the Misty Mountains. The trees there knew much of it and thus seemed to have inherited the caution of those who dewelled most within their branches. 

Unable to reach Faenil, who had wandered downstream to graze at the still fresh grass, Legolas merely whistled a soft warning. It mimicking a bird call of a kind that only lived within his home forest , altering the cadence of it so it was distinguishable. 

His mare’s ears swivelled and as Legolas vaulted into the branches above his head, he saw the muscles along her legs and back tense. But apparently fleeting was her alarm, for once he settled himself into concealment, his brown and green clothes aiding in melding him with his surroundings, she had begun grazing once more. Much to the befuddlement of her rider. 

Yet there was no time for any further instruction from rider to horse. The sound of footsteps, although oddly light and muted against the brush of the ground, were heard. A cloaked figure then made its presence known by striding out of the trees, it’s direction seeming the creek ahead before it changed towards Faenil. 

“Sîdh. Ias ledheg herdir? Man nos est hon an awarthadh sí?” The cloaked figure spoke, voice soft and kind, as he approached the horse and ran his fingers along the leaf design of the blankets that lay along the mare’s back. ( Peace. Where has gone your master? What sort is he to abandon you here? )

Concealed within the thick foliage of the tree, Legolas lifted and pulled back on his bow. Once the string was taut, he fine tuned his aim. Without a single sound made nor movement wasted. At ease was he at such height amongst the multitude of needles and branches, having lived in such surroundings from his birth and grown used to fighting within denser scenery of his home forest. 

But suddenly this new stranger seemed on edge, posture no longer amiable and loose, but tense, coiled. The subtle shifting beneath the thick woollen clock and the guarded glances he shot to the sides or over his shoulder told the wood elf. He had sensed someone was near, watching him and dangerous no less. 

This was the second man to have innately sensed his presence with no indication from anyone being near. Never had the elf seen men so blessed with keen perception. 

Despite not a noise being made to indicate Legolas’ position, the man incremented Legolas’ surprise by having turned towards the direction near where the elf crouched hidden. Foliage of the great pine gifting concealment to the wood elf garbed in green and brown. Subtle movements to mirror those of the branches sway and needles chittering, his aim suffering naught from the motion as centuries practise and hard earned experience left him a master at his craft. 

The silver gaze of the man pierced through the dark gloom of his cloak’s hood that cast the rest of his features in shadow, his eyes roving over the expanse overlooking him. Not quite settling anywhere for it seemed he could not pinpoint where but knew a presence lay veiled within the boughs above. 

In a loud voice, the stranger below called out to the woods, “Im thel alúgarth andh egor loboreg. Im innas gwanna sui ni istatol.” ( I mean no ill will to you or your horse. I will leave as I have come. ) 

The tone was friendly, although wary, and the other began to slowly step away from the horse. Hands held out, palms forward in a universal gesture of peace. He wasn’t holding any weapons nor did he seem to wish for a fight by reaching for any. Even though, Legolas identified that the man did have his own bow and quiver, it filled with arrows. Too at the other’s hip sat a scabbard for a long sword and it took little guess for there to be a dagger or dirk concealed within a boot or secondary sheath elsewhere. No responsible woodsman would be out in the wilds with only his sword to use as both a tool and weapon. 

Recognition shone brightly within the elf’s cerulean eyes at having spied the emblem that was on this new man’s cloak clasp. It was the very same he’d seen on the man who he befriended and was lying in a fevered state back at their small encampment. It was highly unlikely there would be two of such an intricate design, least no so cared for to the point of shining when the rest of the other’s person seemed threadbare and unwashed. Same could be said of the sword, polished and tended well. 

Unless they were kindred? An emblem all rangers carried much as kingdoms did? Legolas too bore the symbol of King Thranduil, the Woodland Realm’s mark, upon his person. It was not unlikely for this to hold true with those belonging to these rangers. 

Momentarily warring with indecision, Legolas simply kept the other man within his sights and that of his primed arrow until the figure disappears through the thinning shrubbery. Once out of sight does the elf relax his hold, but remained did he in the branches. Wishing not to spring any trap that may be laid nor encounter the stranger outside his own terms. 

Dropping his stance entirely, Legolas thoughts oddly flashed to this being the first time anyone has ever been able to approach his horse without being harassed in some way. In the very least, stepped on or snipped at. Not including the fact the human spoke Sindarin, rather fluently at that. And had seemed to recognise the craftsmanship of Elves, for he seemed to beheld reverence were viewing the fineness of the leather satchels Faenil bore. 

Short were those few considerations as his two choices came forward once more. He’d left Halbarad at their camp under guard of the ranger’s own horse whilst he set out, but he knew little of tending humans. Halbarad would be better off in the care of his own people, but he knew not where the rangers’ camp was nor did he trust any settlements of man easily. Yet if that new stranger was kin or apart of the rangers surely he would help? 

Oddly torn, but deciding it was best to try than to let Halbarad suffer through infection at the possible cost of his life or purpose, Legolas continued through the branches of the trees. Keeping his bow held within his hands, arrow notched but not draw. Swift and fleet footed he transverse the treetops. Ear peeled for the sounds of the man. It was a touch more difficult than the elf originally thought to track by sound, these rangers seemed trained to walk with a lightness of foot and consciousness of the land around them. Thus they produced little sound when navigating the thick wood. 

But nothing could silence them entirely, for the Secondborn despite any length of training couldn’t communicate their wish for concealment against the trees themselves. Subtle nudges and whispers of direction from the land gave Legolas the help to  
locate the man. 

Halting when the trees indicated he had found his quarry. Legolas peered through the thick foliage to see the cloaked man appeared to have stooped to examine something on the ground. Perhaps tracking an animal, although the other’s bow was still secured to his back and there was no signs of snares. But the elf could ponder this little more as the man stood once again. 

Bringing up his bow with a speed befitting this race and long centuries of practise, Legolas had the arrow pulled taut and leased within the span of a blink. It’s fine honed tip burying itself in the hardened earth before the man’s boots. The figure having startled, stepping backwards twice in haste. 

“Daro!” Legolas called before the man could attempt to flee, or react otherwise, “Halt where you stand!” 

He dropped his stance to gracefully slip down the branches of the tree to land several paces in front of the man. His was bow raised with an arrow notched the moment his booted feet touched the ground. The softest of crunch sounding from the fallen leaves that lay under foot of the uneven forest floor. 

The new man’s eyebrows sought out his hairline, his posture rigid despite his apparent want for appearance of calm, “I have been given little choice.” 

A hand of his splayed from his sides in a peaceable gesture, however not so far to be unable to reach the sword in the scabbard at his side or the bow at his back. Naught of arrogance resided in the movement, but wary steadfastness of a warrior who would rather a resolution be achieved with no bloodshed. Yet the steeliness that gleamed within the grey of his eyes, told nay would he baulk if it came to a fight between them. 

“Forgive me, but I need you to stay where you are so that I may speak with you.” Legolas explained in part, stern set to his expression, not contrite over his methods, “Will you listen?” 

A single blink and the other’s eyebrows encroached a touch higher at the strangeness of this interaction, “Again, I am given little choice it seems unless I wish to be shot, but yes, you have lend of my ears.” 

Legolas’ gaze flicked towards the jewelled clasp holding the mantle of the man’s cloak across his shoulders, “The brooch you wear, what does it mean?” 

A twitching furrow of the man’s brow reflected an unbridled confusion at the turn of conversation, “It is a symbol for the Rangers that protect and watch over this land.” 

“It is only those of these Rangers that carry the emblem?” Legolas asked, his eagerness sharpened his words and heightened the odd twange to his verbiage. 

“Aye.” Was the simple answer given. 

“You belong to these rangers?” Legolas pressed, emphasis placed upon each word to ensure his meaning was known. 

A pause stretched between them, the other seeming to weigh what outcome his answer may bring. Steel grey eyes unwavering stared back at blue, unafraid and assessing. It was then that Legolas knew this man was indeed one of Halbarad’s kindred. With the shared dark hair, matching beards, and similarly hued irises they could have been mirrors of each other had this man not carried a slighter build and no scar on his right cheek. 

Legolas let the tension bleed from his stance, lowering his bow to to rest at his side and returning the arrow to the quiver on his back in quick session, “You are, and you must follow me at once. I will explain as we go.” 

“I do not idly follow the demands of strangers.” Came the warning response. 

“One of yours, he carries the same brooch and named himself a Ranger, has been wounded.” Legolas elaborated, stepping forwards to indicate with a nod of his head to the star-like clasp on the other’s cloak, his tone grave, “But I know not of mortal medicine and his time is waning. Will you come?” 

The new ranger’s eyes widen at the elf’s explanation before a grimness shadowed his features, appearing suddenly older than his countenance originally portrayed, “Aye, of course I will come help. I follow your lead, Master Elf.”

_TBC._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Bit of a cliffhanger, so sorry, but this was getting rather long & I promised myself to try to keep more consistent word counts for chapters ( 5k to 6k per chapter ) so that nothing is too much or too little for updates. I am aiming to update every saturday, perhaps friday nights if I’ve finished editing by then.
> 
> For those curious, yes , that is Aragorn. No trick or deceit this time. He only isn’t named because he hasn’t yet been formally introduced to Legolas. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is always welcome or just any comments that come to mind about something you liked / didn’t like or reactions to any given part. Whatever it may be , feel free to say something about it. I would love to know & hear from you , but never feel obligated to comment / review if you aren’t up for it.
> 
>  **Note#1 :** I know Tolkien described Halbarad as a ‘dour-handed ranger’ , thus one would suspect him to be stern or severe but given dour is attached to handed , I figured it meant more he was severe & stern when duty called for it. Serious minded & grim would he be when the need called for it , whether for the greater good or need of a friend / the rangers / the dúnedain encampment. Whereas his personality was more at ease & naturally more humorous or friendly. After all he is second to Aragorn when it comes to leading the Rangers , thus in following the example of Arathron & now Aragorn an amiable manner is what he wishes to emulate without sacrificing the seriousness of duty & keeping to oaths made.
> 
>  **Note#2 :** Halbarad is kin of Aragorn, closely do they resemble each other physically with dark hair, grey eyes, taller than tall, and similar wears to their beards. Although Halbarad is older by fifteen or so years to Aragorn, their Númenorian blood helps conceal that bit thus with keeping in them looking much alike at present.
> 
>  **Note#3 :** I figured Legolas , as do all warriors of the Woodland Realm , would know the basics when it comes to healing, essentially just first aid. Just enough to patch up another elf or themselves until they could get to a healer. Thus Legolas would know how to bandage, stitch a wound, clean one, and apply or give certain herbal remedies for disinfecting / analgesics / etc. Nothing extensive, but potentially life saving whilst on a battlefield or away from the Stronghold until they could get back to the healers there.


End file.
